See ’em?


I walk into a room with lightning in my
eye, connect with someone’s pupil and blow my
nose in their general direction. Next I
wipe my upper lip and tap my heart just like
Sammy Sosa, then I put on my bandit
hat or fedora or whatever you want
to call it. It’s the blue cap I rejected
up in Chisholm when I talked to the Stranger
in the shadows. Once my chosen headgear is
on, I adjust the brim properly like my
dad taught me. Most folks called him Tommy but that
ain’t me, babe. I am my father’s son, though … el
oh el – Jingle Bells, listen to ’em jangle
like tambourines on the beach at midnight up
in Martha’s Vineyard with glasses of wine and
merry songs played on pan pipes as red, red wine
flowed and blue veins coursed like mirrored ventricles.
UB40? No. I be 38…wait.
What? Remember Fallout New Vegas? So who’s
the Lucky sage, eh? As in the 7th? Huh?
I heard Jack White say it was Sun in Ball and
Biscuit, but no, mama. That ain’t true. You’re blue.
I know. So? Get over yourself. I love you.
I believe you have a working phone as well,
don’t you? No, your man’s not my father, but he’s
not Darth Vader, either. The Emperor, though is…
Mark Twain. And now, live from Desolation Row,
we turn to page 38 of The Sympo-


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